


I Need a New Body and I Need a New Soul

by firienfeld



Category: John Dies at the End - David Wong
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Parental Abuse, Trauma, but mostly just dave processing the hurt part, let me know if i need to change the rating!! it's not graphic but just in case, tagging for how it is currently but it'll probably be John/Dave and John/Dave/Amy in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27895258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firienfeld/pseuds/firienfeld
Summary: A few snapshots of years in the lives of Dave and John as they learn how to (kind of) cope with the horrifying ordeal of being alive.(CW for sexual assault & parental abuse, no graphic descriptions)
Kudos: 4





	I Need a New Body and I Need a New Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the matter of a half hour, Dave's life changes.

I'm shaking as I walk out through the locker room. I’m not really thinking about where I’m going, just knowing that I have to move, away from here, as fast as fucking possible. Eyes focused straight ahead, hands shoved deep in pockets. I can still hear the whimpers and sobs, playing like a tape loop in my head, and I feel _sick_ because I can’t tell which are mine and which are his.

The area round the back of the school, by the bins, was empty enough. It must be about halfway through lunch, not that I have any idea how long I was in that goddamn room. A couple making out, a guy and a girl maybe a year above me, move on pretty quickly when faced with a blood-stained chubby kid with sunken eyes. I rest my forehead against the wall and try to breathe.

_I've fucked everything up._

How long it is exactly that I'm standing there, head ringing like I've just been whacked by a big cartoon mallet, I'm not sure. My wrists, ankles and hips all burn. Not just from the being pressed down against the rough, sweaty floor, but with _shame_.

Eventually, I hear the sound of familiar obnoxious chatter round the corner. After a few sharp slaps to the face I manage to push myself away from the wall. I pull my jacket over the stains on my shirt and shove my bloody, shaking hands back into my pockets. I try to ignore how heavy the small knife feels in my inner pocket, and turn to face them.

As soon as John sees me, his expression changes. His grin remains in place, still halfway through laughing at something, but his brow furrows like he just _knows_. That's something funny about him. He always manages to figure out exactly how I'm feeling before even I do. Most of the time it annoys the fuck out of me, but the times like this make me _so_ _grateful_.

"Dave!” he exclaims, with cautious excitement. “Where have you been? We just got out of Spanish because of that motherfucker Walker. I _swear_ that dude is out to eat one of us."

I try to smile at Head and Kelly, hanging back behind him, but I can only manage a vague grimace. They give me nods back, tinged with those hints of pity that John's friends always seem to have saved for me. _Can't blame them._

"I- uh- gym,” I reply feebly. My voice is quiet and flat. At that point I realise that I probably should have thought of an excuse to get John away. It was instinctive, you know, just coming to where I knew he’d be. Instead I just stand there like a depressing growth on the floor. Head lights the joint that they were here for, all of us standing in an awkward silence. I try to think of something to say that’s not completely pathetic and desperate.

As I said, though, John always knows.

"Glad you were out here actually, dude, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

I feign surprise.

"Oh yeah?"

He turns to the other two with an easy grin and says, “I’ll catch up with you later, yeah?”

After we get some distance from the others, I mutter, “I need to leave- go somewhere. Away from here.”

He nods, and we head towards the field.

* * *

John and I walk in silence for ten minutes through the trees that skirt the border of the school. We reach our usual bunking spot, on the edge of flat farmland, and wordlessly move to sit. As soon as I bend down, a wave of exhaustion shoots through me and I can’t help but lie down on the grass. Everything hurts so much. The worst part isn’t the physical pain, although that _fucking sucks._ It’s that deep, creeping agony that wells up from somewhere inside my stomach, making my legs numb and my arms twitch.

I know that John is looking at me, and I don’t blame him. I can practically see that rare unreadable look that he saves for when he’s really, _really_ worried about me. But he doesn’t push me. He lets me lie on the ground, eyes closed, in silence. I hear the click of his lighter and it’s when the smell of his cigarette reaches me that I notice I’m crying.

“I fucked up,” I finally manage, feeling my voice shake. “I fucked up _bad_.”

“Whose blood is that, Dave?”

His tone is so calm, so soothing, and so unaccusatory, that for a moment I feel angry. _I don’t deserve this_ , I think. _I mangled his fucking face. Don’t act like I’m some wild animal who needs taming. Don’t pity me._

Then I realise that I’m covered in blood, shaking, and lying in the dirt, and I note how dumb that thought is.

I avoid the question. Opening my eyes and looking up at John, I notice for the first time today that he has a dark bruise on his jaw, and I feel a pang of guilt. He was willing to skip on the rest of the school for _me_ from just a single look, and it took me this long to notice such an obvious thing. The cigarette packet that sits in front of him is different to his usual; they’re his dad’s. _That explains that_ , I think, resentfully.

“Hitchcock’s,” I finally answer. I owe it to him. “I, uh, stabbed him. In the face. A lot.”

The words don’t quite feel real.

“I don’t think gonna be allowed to stay at school after this.”

“Shit,” John replies, and lifts his cigarette to his lips. We fall silent again as he finishes it, and I wonder what the fuck I would be doing right now if I hadn’t been in that computer class last year. I try to subtly move to wipe my damp cheeks and, after a beat of impeccable comedic timing, suddenly burst into uncontrollable, gasping tears.

Immediately, John’s hands are on my back, head, arms. He clutches me, rubbing soft circles with his palms. He is murmuring to me- quiet words that I’m sobbing too loud to hear, but it makes me feel safer than I have done all day. After I manage to get my breathing in check, at least a bit more, he wraps one arm over my shoulder protectively and sits back.

When he speaks again, he sounds shaken.

“David, what the fuck did he do to you?”

I shake my head. My eyes, wet and frenzied, meet his, and he looks scared of the answer.

“I- I- I can’t, I’m sorry- I-“

He nods, and tightens his grip on my shoulder. He knows. That’s okay.

After a few minutes, I nudge his arm away gently so I can sit up, the tension in my chest now completely _empty_. The adrenaline’s worn off, I guess, and now I’m all too aware of how exhausted I am. My ‘dad’ will be home in a few hours, and I can’t face questions and arguments and explanations like this. Once again, John seems to read my mind.

“You wanna come over to mine? My dad picked up a shit ton of beer last week, and him and my mom are gonna be out for fuck-knows-how-long.”

“Are you sure that’s ok?” I try not to look at the purple patch that blossoms over his jaw, both of us aware of what the question means.

“Yeah man, of course. He won’t notice.” I raise one eyebrow.

“John, I-“

He cuts me off with a jarring certainty that leaves no room for disagreeing.

“Dave. It’s _fine_.” He pauses for a second, and adds, “Besides, you _need_ to see me open a bottle with my eye. That shit _rocks_.”

Although I roll my eyes, I manage my first genuine smile since getting into that fucking room. I have no idea what is going to happen tomorrow, but I’m so, so glad I don’t have to be alone.

“Whatever, asshole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing for these guys so much... hope you enjoyed! This won't be all angst, I promise- there's just, uh, not much room for jokes on this particular day in Dave's life.
> 
> (Title is from Fidlar's 'No Waves', which is a VERY JDatE song!)


End file.
